Captain's Defence
by Kate-Emma
Summary: Someone is hunting Australian Navy captains one at a time. They've killed twelve already and now Hammersley captain Mike Flynn knows there's every chance he could be next. Especially when he starts having strange visions of the murders. Mike/Kate.
1. Chapter 1: Twelve

**Captain's Defence**

Chapter One: Twelve

_If you're still alive, you're still in this..._

"The body is believed to be that of Lieutenant Commander Patrick Grey, captain of the Australian patrol boat HMAS Childers. The discovery of his body means the body count has risen to twelve…"

Marshall flicked off Mark Ferguson's face. "That's my second one Mike."

Mike Flynn frowned at the blank screen then returned his eyes to his senior officer. "What's going on sir?" He gaped. Having just returned from a job he didn't know about the murders. He'd heard the first two but now… twelve?

Marshall handed him a list. "That's the twelve. It was clear before but it's drop dead certain now. Someone is targeting our captains."

Mike looked at the list of murdered men, each of them a distinguished captain of an Australian Navy boat. They came from many different areas. And many were names he knew well. He frowned and slowly scanned the list.

INFORMATION: PUBLIC  
SOURCE: AUSTRALIAN FEDERAL POLICE  
FOR: COMMANDER STEVEN MARSHALL, HMAS CAIRNS

1. CDR Nicholas 'Paddy' O'Leary, HMAS Warramunga  
2. CAPT Thomas 'Dingo' Twin, HMAS Melbourne  
3. CAPT Evan 'Marks' Spencer, HMAS Manoora  
4. LCDR Charles 'Professor' Fox, HMAS Wewak  
5. LCDR Joseph 'Tsunami' Chin, HMAS Gascoyne  
6. LCDR Arthur 'Dodger' Downie, HMAS Broome  
7. CDR Richard 'Mr Cricket' Hussey, HMAS Perth  
8. CAPT Harry 'Dickins' Porter, HMAS Newcastle  
9. CAPT Steven 'Pop-Eye' Price, HMAS Kanimbla  
10. LCDR Michael 'Angelo' Erinya, HMAS Tarakan  
11. LCDR Simon 'The Rat' Rattan, HMAS Yarra  
12. LCDR Patrick 'Pigeon' Grey, HMAS Childers

It was a chilling read for Mike. Pigeon, Pop-Eye and Dodger were men he knew. Now they were dead? But worse than anything, there was a pattern. He pointed it out to Marshall. He nodded.

"AFP pointed that out. ANZACs are next. The Parramatta is in the Gulf so it shouldn't be Commander Edmunds. The other captains are being kept in custody."

"So, what, the XO is in charge?" Marshall nodded. "But then won't they go after him?"

"That's a possibility yes, but the police can't guard everyone. We must assume whoever is behind this is after captains only."

Mike sighed, knowing Marshall was about to ask him to go into protective custody too, lest it be his turn after death 17. But Mike would rather die than hide. It wasn't his way. He looked at Marshall, his eyes telling his senior not to ask, and Marshall seemed to understand. "How did they die?" Mike finally asked.

Marshall sighed. "Various ways." He grabbed the list. "Twin, Porter and Grey were stabbed. Hussey's throat was cut. Fox, Downie and Rattan were strangled. The rest were shot.

Mike shook his head. "This is messed-up." He frowned. "Why so many different ways? Multiple people?"

Marshall nodded. "It appears that way. A hunt? Sport? Who knows?" He sighed. "Whatever it is, you're on their hit list Mike, I'm sure of it."

"The police have no idea who's behind this?"

"There have been minimal clues left at the scene. Whoever these people are, they're good." Marshall then gave Mike a look that simply said 'be careful' and turned away, the conversation over. Mike frowned at Marshall's retreating figure then left NAVCOM bound for the quiet lull, and dare he say safety, of the Hammersley.

* * *

"You hypothesise like a woman Spider." Charge snorted, passing the still chatting Seaman on the bridge.

A look of utter confusion crossed Spider's face. "What?"

Charge laughed. "Which word didn't you understand Spider? Hypothesise or Woman?"

"Don't tease him Charge. You know perfectly well he knows nothing about women." Bomber put in to the laughter of Nav as she came in with some information for RO. Spider gave her a glare but she just grinned at him and left the bridge.

"Don't worry Spider, you aren't alone. No one here gets women." ET put in unhelpfully.

Spider looked shocked. "I get women." He protested, not quite getting the joke.

It was at about this time that the X re-entered the bridge. "Of course you do Spider." She muttered with a small smile. Spider gave her a blank look and she held back laughing at the young man. "What time do we sail Nav?"

Nav glanced at the clock. "Uh, 20 minutes ago X."

The X frowned and looked at Nav. "What?"

Nav nodded. "We're just waiting for the captain. He should've been here 25 minutes ago."

With a frown Kate reached into her pocket and pulled out her mobile. Keying in Mike's number, which she sadly realised she knew off the top of her head, the phone started the call. 10 rings. 15 rings. Voicemail. Kate hung up and tried again. The same. With a frown she looked at Nav. "Call Marshall. Something's wrong."

* * *

Patrick 'Pigeon' Grey was a well-built man. 188cms tall and 68kgs, he was strong but fast. Yet this speed had achieved nothing that night. The night none of it had mattered.

It had been a little after 2030, the beginning of Sky News blaring into his lounge room from the small television. The house was quiet, the way he liked it. Not empty, but quiet. Somewhere near the back of the house his twin daughters Ruby and Grace were reading. Studying he hoped, but doubting it. At 16 they should be studying but instead they had developed a crush on a vampire named Edward. Patrick blamed himself for that. He had bought them the entire Twilight series for their birthday the month before. Now, with exams fast approaching, it seemed likely their answers would in some way relate to the struggles of being a vegetarian vampire. Somewhere near them their mother Tanya was ironing. Their eldest child and only son Harrison had a very important interview coming up that may stand between him and university if it didn't go well so Tanya had panicked and was now ironing every good shirt he had just in case. As for Harrison, what he was up to at the moment Patrick didn't know, but it likely involved him deep in conversation with his girlfriend Yvonne. Whatever he was doing, he wasn't disturbing his father and Patrick was thankful for that. It was his thing to sit down at 2030 and watch the news. A ritual of his that helped him sleep. He still wasn't sure how he managed to do without it when on board the Childers.

Then there was a sound outside. A bin falling over. It let out a loud crash and then the sound of it rolling away. Patrick frowned then realised it was probably the neighbours dumb cat Snickers and ignored it, vowing to pick it up in the morning when he actually had time. He settled back into the news. Then another crash, different and closer. This one sounded like something hitting the external blinds on his house. Something thrown. With a frown Patrick pushed himself up from the lounge and went to the front window. There was no one there. There was nothing. Just the bin still rolling slowly down his driveway towards the road. With a sigh Patrick turned on the porch light and opened the front door, stepping out into the cool night air. It was a beautiful night, the kind he enjoyed when at sea. But he was off for a few days to see the kids. As much as that happened when they spent all days on their own in their rooms. But, shaking that out, he headed down the front driveway to regather the bin. He didn't notice the figure in the garden. He didn't notice the knife. He didn't realise anything was wrong until it was plunged into his back.

* * *

Mike's eyes snapped open and he noticed he was still sitting outside NAVCOM. He had taken the seat after leaving Marshall behind when he felt a strange coldness wash over him. He'd felt weak, like he was about to faint, so had taken a seat. But now, 30 minutes later, he was still here. He frowned and pushed himself to his feet, a sharp pain in his back making him groan. He felt like he'd just been stabbed. It hurt like nothing else. It was like every muscle in his back burned. And his head swam with images, his eyes with tears. It was dark, night. There was a bin. There was a bin rolling towards the road? And a sound. A voice. A name.

Mike's eyes snapped open and he stood up, blinking in the bright afternoon sunlight. A name? But what did it mean?

"Sir?"

Mike turned, seeing Kate. He gathered himself and gave her a smile. "Oh, hi, sorry, I didn't see you there."

Kate frowned. "Mike, are you okay? You look, I don't know, not yourself."

Mike gave her a weak smile. "I'll be fine once I get the sea air into me again."

Kate nodded. "Yeah." But her smile didn't reach her eyes. "What did Marshall have to say?"

Mike frowned. "Not much. C'mon, let's sail. I do believe we're late." Then, brushing the thoughts from his mind, Mike headed back to the Hammersley.

**A/N: **For Livi who suggested I try some Mike/Kate. Let's see how this goes. But I assure you that you will regret that suggestion.

**Thanks to: **Stevo who corrected my rankings system. Lol, thanks luv, i better work on that. *goofy look*


	2. Chapter 2: Eleven

**Captain's Defence**

Chapter Two: Eleven

LCDR Simon 'The Rat' Rattan lived his nickname, burrowed up in a small flat watching the only thing that kept him sane – his precious Adelaide Crows. His house was littered with Crows paraphernalia from scarves and posters to signed footballs. He was mad keen, to the point where his sister commented that it was the reason women kept their distance, but he didn't mind it at all. In fact, he'd only had two serious relationships in his time and both of them had been utter disasters. The first had been two years earlier when he'd met a sweet young baking apprentice at his local Baker's Delight. She'd been fifteen years his junior and had made him feel very old, despite the fact he was only 46. She'd been in love with the uniform and had more than once made him wear it in the bedroom, but eventually that wore off. Especially when she met one of Simon's younger sailors who was a lot closer to her age. Their fling had finished there.

The second had been an older woman he'd met on a football chat site. She too was a mad football fan and they talked for ages online, organising to meet up when he was next in port. There was only one problem – she was a Port Adelaide Power fan. At first he thought they could work through that, until the day he came home from a posting to find she'd moved into his flat and put all his Crows memorabilia into storage. She'd been out on her backside faster than Peter Burgoyne at a Crows appreciation night.

Since then Simon had remained in a relationship with his only two loves – the Crows and the Navy. The pair of them were a lot simpler than any woman he'd ever known, didn't cause him too much grief and were a lot cheaper. Plus being out of a relationship left him a lot of time to enjoy his other favourite past time; snoozing in front of the news.

It was how he knew he was getting too old for the real world and all it's problems – the jingle of the evening news heralded the beginning of sleep.

It was another long evening in front of the television, waiting for the news to begin, that the end began. He'd been tired that night, having just returned home from a long stint fishing out unexploded sea mines dumped by Indonesian fishermen in the Torres Strait. The Indonesians used them as an easy way to fish for large numbers of animals, but were banned in Australian waters, much like the fishermen themselves. Not that this stopped them and when the HMAS Bundaberg had come across their FFV the men had skedaddled, leaving only their mines behind. The Bundaberg had managed to avoid them, but that did leave the HMAS Yarra, a Huon-class mine hunter, to clean up what remained. Now, finally home from another week in the tropical north, Simon had retired to sleep. But not before he was forced to empty the garbage, a job that ended with him leaving the back door open to all and sundry.

Anyone could walk in.

And anyone did.

And so, as Simon drifted off to sleep, his killer took the chance he'd been waiting for, having kipped outside Rattan's home for a week now just awaiting his target. He wandered into the house, eyed the sleeping Rattan in front of the television, and put his hands to the Lieutenant Commander's throat. Simon Rattan was dead before the news jingle even ended.

*

He'd endured two nightmares that night, the first one involving a man he didn't know being strangled, the second a lot more difficult to watch. So often he'd imagined smacking the cocky Price, a man Mike had had the misfortune of sharing a post with many years earlier, but watching him be shot dead was another matter altogether. The confrontation with a man in the shadows of an alleyway. The smart-ass comments from Steven as he did what he did best – tried to talk his way out of a bad situation. Steven Price was not a strong man, something few would believe seeing he was built quite similar to Mike and the Hammersley CO certainly didn't consider himself weak, but he was smart. It was his ability to talk that had allowed the man to rank up faster than he should have after joining the Navy much later than most, moving into the sea life after years as a deckhand on a fishing vessel. It was during these first few years that he'd been given the ironic name of Pop-Eye, a name that summed up Price in a nutshell: he didn't punch, he didn't fight with his body and he didn't eat his greens. He was everything Pop-Eye wasn't, but the name stuck to him and he enjoyed it, even using the call Papa instead of Charlie over the radio when he ranked up to CO of the HMAS Kanimbla. But in that alleyway, staring down the barrel of a gun, Captain Price's history and nickname wouldn't help him. Seemingly, neither would his skill with words. The man in the shadows shot Price in the head and left without a blink.

"Sir?" The X repeated, about one more repeat away from waving her hand in front of his face. But this time Mike looked up, his face as white as a sheet as he recalled the image of the dark figure simply strolling off, shoving the gun in his pocket, as Steven Price's bloody figure lay there. This dark figure didn't know Price's wife Leslie. Mike wondered who had told her the news. The dark figure didn't know the man he'd just killed at all. His history. His bizarre sense of humour. The people who would miss him, despite all the crap he'd put them through. "Sir, are you okay?" The X lowered her voice so the others on the bridge wouldn't feel the need to listen in.

Mike nodded solemnly. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm fine."

The X frowned but Mike gave her a look that simply said 'don't push it Kate' and she nodded. "Okay sir." She gave him a small, warm smile, and went back to work. Mike just returned his attention to the front of his ship.

*

Like all the others in the room, eleven in total, W was not a man of military stature. He was someone to be sneered at in militaristic society, little more than a civilian, a paper warrior whose weapons were bulldog clips. His battlefield was a desk at some inconsequential law firm in the hustle and bustle life of inner city Brisbane. A man whose only victories were against misdirected invoices and whose Commanding Officer was a woman intent on exacting exquisite revenge for the years she'd spent following in the dust of her ex-husband's career. A once-and-would-be man who now smoked too much and swore too little, who over-tightened his belt and whose bed was as cold as an Arctic foxhole. Who found himself lingering outside homes like a mynah in the rain. Life disgusted him… or maybe it should be that his life disgusted him. But that night he'd been informed he could turn his life around and get back at the man that had cost him so much – it had been the night he'd become W, a man hell-bent on revenge.

To anyone else it just looked like a list of random names, but to the men in the room it made sense. Ten names for ten men. W had his own special target. He glanced down at the list as the names were allocated to the men.

_Arunta. Sydney. Norman. Launceston. Melville. Mermaid. Collins. Toowoomba. Labuan. Diamantina._

One by one the men took their names and departed until W was left with the cloaked leader of the group, a man they simply called their CO, a joke that W did not find amusing nor take part in. He went to the leader.

"The Captain I have been promised sir?" He asked.

The leader nodded. "You were late to join us W. As you may have heard, we are already a quarter of the way through the list. But your story appealed to me, and your uncle was a friend betrayed by this crew, so I agree to let you have Lieutenant Commander Flynn." With a nod he turned and left. As he went he shot one last thing back. "Do not let me down W. I too have a lasting grudge against the _Hammersley_ and their crew."

W smiled and planned silently to himself. Revenge at last.

**A/N: **Well, that has officially been the longest wait for chapter 2 ever. Let's see if I can make anyone wait till next July for chapter three. Lol. Kidding, don't shoot! Actually, the next chapter will be up soon.

First person to pick both W (this one's pretty obvious me thinks) and the Leader get chocolate. Lol. Course, seeing as my promises count for nothing, maybe don't bother!


	3. Chapter 3: Ten

**Captain's Defence**

Chapter Three: Ten

"Contact baring one, two, zero; range…" Nav's voice disappeared from his ears as white noise took over. A voice, a question filled his head. 'Who are you? What are you doing here?'

"Sir?"

Mike's eyes snapped open and he caught Kate watching him again. This time her face told him she wouldn't take no for an answer when she demanded an explanation. "Yes X?" Mike realised, as soon as he spoke, his voice was about to give him away. He sounded constricted, like something was stuck in his throat.

She saw right through it. "Can we talk? Downstairs?"

He decided he was better off agreeing with her rather than make a scene. "Of course." He pushed himself from his seat and followed, but halfway across the bridge the constricted feeling in his throat got worse and his breathing laboured. He clutched the back of the chair a worried Spider was seated in, manning the EOD, and the rest of the bridge crew looked up as Mike's head was filled with voices once again. Names. Professor. Lieutenant Commander. Wewak. Charles. Mike realised then he was watching, feeling and now succumbing to what Lieutenant Commander Fox had suffered when he'd been strangled to death. And it was about to get the better of him too…

With one last look at the faces around him, Mike took one last breath and collapsed onto the bridge floor.

*

The machine beeped, a soft low beep that made the room seem less empty than it did in the silence between them. For the figure in the bed the silence was deafening and the beeps non-existent. He could hear nothing.

He'd been unconscious now for eight days, unaware of those that came to visit and those that came to wish him well.

He didn't know anyone was there.

He was all alone, in this cold quiet shell, dreaming fitful dreams. Memories. Realities. Atrocities. Horrors.

And then, for the first time in those eight days, his mouth formed a word and his eyelids moved. Slowly, breathlessly, he sounded out a single name.

"Walsman."

*

"Are you going to tell me what's been going on?" Kate was stood in his doorway, ignoring the far-away look in his eyes. "Sir?" She stopped glaring as she realised he wasn't all there. "Sir? Are you sure you're okay?"

Mike finally looked up, horror at what he'd just experienced finding it's way to his lips. "Did you know Commander Richard Hussey? He was the CO of the HMAS Perth." It had been an hour since his moment on the bridge. He'd awoken only a few seconds later, the pressure on his throat gone and the face of Swain swimming in front of his eyes. Refusing to spend time in the Ward Room, Mike had allowed himself to be led from the bridge and to his room. But now, another death playing itself over in his head, he wondered whether Swain's offer of sedatives wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Kate frowned. "Hussey? He was one of the captains whose been killed right?"

Mike nodded slowly. "Number seven. He was the only one whose throat was cut." Mike breathed out heavily. "He was coming home from shopping and was opening the garage door when he was jumped. Killed right there on the driveway." Kate frowned and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "He has a daughter and a grandkid on the way."

"How do you know this?"

"I've been seeing it. They just keep coming, even when I'm not asleep. Captain Evan Spencer, shot with his own handgun. Lieutenant Commander Downie of the Broome was strangled in his bed. Captain Thomas Twin, the Melbourne CO, stabbed in the shower Psycho-style. I've seen them all. I've had to watch them all." Kate's eyes widened as Mike continued, his hand shaking. "I've had to watch them all being murdered."

"Maybe I should get Swai…"

"I'm not sick!" Mike snapped, swatting at a pile of papers on his desk. They fluttered to the floor. "I just, I just want to know why this is happening. Why I have to watch them."

Kate frowned. It hurt to see him in this much anguish, but she couldn't bring herself to believe what he was saying. Seeing people being murdered? That was… well, for lack of a nicer word, it was madness. "I don't think you're sick, you're… troubled," Mike looked up so she continued quickly, "…by what's been happening lately." He put his head into his hands. "Swain can give you something to help you sleep. You need it, yes?" He nodded slowly, giving in. "Okay, stay there, I'll get Swain." Kate stepped out of the CO's cabin and shut the door behind her, frowning back at it before hurrying to find the Swain, wondering if sleep would be enough to deal with whatever it was that Mike was putting himself through.

*

When sleep did come that night, it came fitfully. He tossed and turned, caught up in voices, some he recognised but couldn't put names to, and some new. Despite being administered with more than enough sleeping tablets to knock an elephant unconscious, Mike continued to be plagued by nightmares. The only difference was whereas before he could identify what had been happening, now they merged into one. One second he was following Captain Harry Porter as he answered the door, the next he watched the Gascoyne's CO, an Australian-Asian Lieutenant Commander nicknamed the Tsunami, face the barrel of a semi-automatic. He stood back and watched both men die; unable to make out the face of the intruder who felt the need to take away the lives of men he'd probably never known.

It hurt Mike to watch them, even though he hadn't known either of these men.

And then another started. A scruffy-looking man dressed up in his whites was walking up the staircase to his unit, carrying a dark blue duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Mike stood back and watched as, tired, he fiddled with the keys in the door. Finally he got it in and pushed open the door, dumping the keys inside. Mike felt himself following, still not knowing whom this victim was. The man walked into his small living room, kicking the front door shut behind him. Mike stayed with him, drawn despite knowing he was about to watch someone die right in front of him.

Almost as if called by this revelation, a figure appeared out of the corner of Mike's eye. The victim didn't see him and Mike cringed as the man stepped up behind the victim and raised a knife. Mike turned away as the whole ordeal began, the sound of begging and screams hitting his ears as Mike scanned for anything to look at other than the murder. His eyes fell on a pile of letters by the door and he went to them, hoping they could provide a clue to whose death he'd just listened to. All was quiet now. The CO was dead.

As Mike's eyes fell upon the name on the letters, he gasped and at that moment awoke, sitting up straight in bed as he realised…

"He wasn't on the list!"

Mike's voice broke the darkness, scaring himself as he repeated what he'd just seen. Thomas Henderson. He hadn't been on the original list. And Mike knew then what he'd just seen.

"There's more victims to come."


End file.
